


settling in

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11438469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Snapshot of their life soon after moving into the Unremarkable House. Prompt requests: realistically depicted bodies, clit pinching, established/comfortable relationship.





	settling in

With the pleasure of having a day off comes the anxiety of having a day off – an unsettling feeling residing in her hands that only heal these days, her mind that never stops. The worry that the day will be wasted, when she knows the true price of time poorly spent.   
  
And so she flits about the house, first thing in the morning; she’d slept in only an hour and let the birds carry her into wakefulness, as Mulder never has the heart, looked out the window and wondered if the weeds should be pulled, or the grass mowed. It did not seem to her that it did.   
  
The groceries, then? It had been at least two weeks since she’d last gone. Mulder joked about storing him in the trunk and catching a glimpse of the parking lot. She joked about letting him. 

But the kitchen is stocked. She has yet to break the habit of purchasing to last, and he has this new habit of slow cooking… everything, and so they’ve been set on meals for days with no real prep-work involved. Mulder does odd jobs around the house when she’s gone, throws himself into a new project like he would a case, and though she remains skeptic of the longevity of this particular new obsession, she is grateful for it, happy to see him doing something with his hands and with his mind. Speaking of Mulder… she looks for him, finds him circling the yard like a caged but settled dog, out for his morning jog. 

What did she do, before becoming this person? Dr. Scully, new aged (by the standards of Our Lady of Sorrows, she’s coming to find) slighty-aged with her fugitive boyfriend and relentless hours? She’d slip into the bath, slip into her pajamas and read a book. In the back of her mind, there’s something else she should be doing. In the back of her mind, all of this equates to a major waste of time.

But she tries it out, anyway. For old times’ sake. 

She bathes and is made aware of new pains in her back, of aches and sorrows she carries in her spine she might have missed otherwise. She bought the wrong bubbles, but she doesn’t  _mind_  these. And when she gets out she’s warm and red like slow-burning coal and she foregoes her stuffy pajamas for a shirt and cotton panties, and cools off on top of the duvet. She relaxes with her book and wonders if she’ll ever settle down.

“Doc,” Mulder greets after his run, closing the bedroom door behind him. He peels off his jogging clothes and wipes himself down with a towel before pulling on a new t-shirt and a pair of sweats. Then he’s crawling into bed, heedless of her groans of  _shower_  and  _not in bed_. Her admonishments die out when he spoons her up in his arms, resting a possessive hand over her hip.

“Have a good time barking at the mailman?” she asks into her book. He huffs and pulls her closer. 

“Wish I could see him explaining how he got all those bitemarks on his ass to his wife.”

“We’ll get you a muzzle.”  _Mmm,_ he presses a sloppy kiss behind her ear. “We’ll get you neutered, too.”

“What are you reading?” he asks softly, his stubbled cheek against hers. She doesn’t answer, and he can probably feel the heat rising in her face. “Scully?”

“It’s a book that’s been recommended to me,” she says tightly.  _And?_ is the question in his silence. “It’s romance.”

“Romance, huh? What kind of romance?” And in her silence, he finds his answer. “ _Scully.”_  Yes. Scully.

“Mulder–”

“ _Scully,_ ” he moans against her neck – and that  _tickles_ , Mulder, her giggles trailing off into choking gasps as his words trail off into kisses – “That’s sexy, you reading this.” 

“It’s just…”  _It’s just_ , he teases in her ear, scratching lightly over her bellybutton, lifting up her shirt. With a half-blink she sighs, letting her wrist holding up the book fall back down to the bed. The book falls with an  _oof._ “The nuns have been reading it.” 

“The  _nuns_?” He grunts, his breath humid and hot and sticking to her skin like mist. “The nuns are reading smut?” And then he’s moving his hand down, finally, but he skips her waistband and – oh. He curls his fingers in the fabric over her mons and tugs _,_  the movement outlining her plump lips through her panties. His chin hooks over her shoulder and he pulls even tighter.

“Stop it,” she hisses even as she grinds against the sudden pressure, and he laughs into her shirt. “The nuns are always reading smut.” 

“Some nuns.” And just as his fingers press into her wettest point, just as she allows herself to close her eyes and lean into the moody warmth of his embrace, he tells her, not in bedroom tones: “Read to me, Scully.” 

“ _What_?” She asks, not sure, for a second, that she’s heard him right, jarred slightly by the even measure of his voice. He says it to her like he’s telling her what body needs to be cut up, or what suspect needs to be interviewed. He says it again, pulls her underwear tighter still. Punctuation. You heard me, Scully.

“It’s not any good,” she huffs.

“That makes it better.”  
  
And so she reads to him.

“ _Charlotte was not a girl accustomed to…”_ still he does not touch her, not really, just holds her panties in place – but on her clit, a substantial thing, perfect  and weighty between his thumb and forefinger and even better in his mouth, the friction is just enough to drive her crazy and keep her motivated. “ _Accustomed to meeting strange men, let alone stranger-men…”_ he doesn’t slip his hand underneath until she has the whole sentence out. “ _Let alone strange, stranger-men, in strange places, as a stranger in the strangest town._ Mulder,” she gasps as the pads of his fingers finally stroke maddeningly gentle over her swollen labia. “This is horrible.”

“ _Keep reading_ ,” he growls, and rolls his hips against her back. 

“ _But here she was, waiting,”_ she continues,  “ _waiting for him, waiting to meet him, waiting to do more than meet him.”_ Winces, when he lightly parts her folds, delicate minora over delicate majora, to slick himself in her depths. He almost stops when she pauses, but she checks herself, reads aloud without really reading. “ _At night, he had told her. They would meet at night. She would wait by the old churchyard and he would meet her there.”_

 _“_ Kinky,” he says, and she lets out a shuddering breath.

“ _The cold nipped her, as did her worries,”_ and he nips her, similarly, through the thin cotton of her t-shirt. She feels the press of his tongue, yearns for its wetness, too, its familiar texture. “ _There she stood, dressed in her finest. Her sandy hair stood out in graying fog, her gleaming coat poured like wine at her feet.  How - how did she… did she look? How would she look to him, this strange man, when he finally took her into his view?”_

 _“_ Stunning. Otherworldly. Fucking _edible.”_  When he thumbs assuredly over her clit, the words begin to blur in her eyes and in her mouth.

“ _Would he… would he demand that she –”_ oops, skipped a line, “ _Would his strange eyes glaze over with his strange want? Would he have to to take her, right there, this stranger?”_ Soaked with her juices he pinches her, covers her leg with his own when it threatens to kick out.  _Yes_ , he groans. “ _Would he reach into her cloaks and feel her, before he even uttered a word?_

 _Would he demand that she undress for him?”_ Somehow they’re pulling off Scully’s shirt, her naked form pressed tight to his clothed chest. The hardness of his body always catches her off guard these days, the sheer bulk of him, a testament to the resiliency of broken body and spirit, and the scratch of his clothing on her sensitized skin makes her shiver. “ _Right there, in front of God and all of his most faithful followers?”_ He keeps pinching her clit, even though he knows she’s too sensitive for that, no matter how light and purposeful, keeps pinching even as she jerks and mewls in his arms.

“ _Would he_ ,” and somehow – somehow she feels it building, too fast for her comprehension. “ _Would he show them the proper ways of worship, this stranger of hers_?  _Would he makethemallbow oh myoh god.”_ What she’d give for his tongue on her nipples, what she’d give for him to stop touching her like this, what she’d give for him to never stop. “ _Bow to her and for her her would he make them would he_ – “

“Mmm, come on,” he urges her, his voice reaching low and dark into all the empty spaces in her body, and then she’s coming to that voice, gravelly and imploring in her ear, comes to it calling her home, comes to the feeling of him wrapped all around her and to the thoroughness of how he loves her. Her worries, for a moment, fade away. She settles into him.


End file.
